


I'm Just Passing The Time

by MyChemicalRachel



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Seriously Brendon is dead, ghost!Brendon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalRachel/pseuds/MyChemicalRachel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is dead. He finds joy in haunting Ryan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Just Passing The Time

I remember the first time I saw him. I thought I was crazy. Hell, I still think I’m crazy. Only now, I guess I’ve given into the mind tricks, embraced the insanity, and come to terms with the delusion. Except he’s not fake. He’s not a figment of my imagination. He’s very much real… In certain terms at least. It’s only in the physical aspect that he’s lacking, really.

But I’m not crazy, and he’s not an illusion. He’s a ghost.

Even more so, he’s my ghost-- The one that’s been haunting me for the past five months. Though I’m not sure “haunting” is quite the right word. Most hauntings consist of scary sounds and objects flying across the room. Harassment is probably a more accurate term.

Yeah, that sounds about right; For the past five months, my life has been overrun and turned upside down by the harassment of the ghost of Brendon Urie.

It didn’t take me long to realize what an asshole Brendon is. The second he appeared in the coffee shop-- causing me to abruptly spit my drink on the table and sputter out a few incoherent words about a man in the corner booth who was sitting on the table between a middle-aged couple, sticking his dick in the woman’s tea-- I knew nothing would ever be the same.

He seemed to have heard me, as I managed to cause quite a scene, pointing a finger in his direction though no one else could see what I was seeing. He looked up, his dark eyes glimmering with amusement, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. He grinned and gracefully climbed to the floor. Quirking his head to the side, he studied me. By that point, a few of the workers were watching me with wary glances, my friends trying to get me to shut the hell up, but this strange man was coming closer to me and I wasn’t quieting down anytime soon.

When he stopped, he was a mere foot away. He was slightly shorter than me, his eyes a darker shade of brown than my own, and his hair only darker than that. “You can see me,” He seemed mesmerized by this fact, proud and intrigued.

Swallowing down the uneasy feeling in my stomach, I clenched my jaw. “Of course I can see you.”

He smiled again and his eyes flashed to the people behind me, my friends standing by unsure of what to do in the state of my current mental breakdown. “They think you’re crazy, you know,” The stranger mused again. “You’re talking to thin air.”

“No, I’m not.” My response was snapped, because he was right about the first thing; Everyone in the shop was looking at me now, standing in the middle of the room, facing off with a person they all claimed wasn’t there.

Stranger tilted his head again. “Are you sure?” And just like that, he was gone. Vanished. Into thin air.

The next time I saw him was a few days later. I’d avoided the coffee shop for nearly a week after the initial incident of seeing him, but the caffeine withdrawal soon had me coming back. This time, I ordered a drink quietly. My head was down and my eyes scanned the faces at every table for the boy from before. He was nowhere to be seen as I collected my coffee, thanked the woman behind the counter, and turned to the exit. I nearly escaped without incident, but when I looked up to push the door open, I stopped dead in my tracks. There he was, standing between myself and the door, grinning broadly.

“I was hoping you would come back,” He said. He folded his arms across his chest, showing no intention of moving.

I stepped slowly around him, like moving too quickly would make him pounce on me like a wild animal. Pushing the door open, I kept my eyes on him. He didn’t move beyond turning his head to watch me leave, that damned smug smile still etched in place.

The door closed behind me and the man still didn’t move. I was half a block away, walking faster than usual, my eyes flitting nervously around the streets, when I saw him again. He was leaning against the wall of an old brick building, seemingly waiting for me as he fell into step as I passed. I quickened my pace. There was a terrifying knot clenching and unclenching in my stomach and I kept my head down. There was no way he could have left the coffee shop and after me and still reach this point before, unless he sprinted down the adjacent block. Still, he didn’t look winded at all. He looked completely relaxed, keeping my pace easily.

“Are you going to just pretend I’m not here?” He wondered, feigning hurt. “I’m offended.”

“You’re not real.” I’m not sure whether I was trying to convince myself or him, but the words didn’t make me feel any better.

The stranger snorted. “Of course I’m real. If I wasn’t real, could I do this?” He proceeded to stick his foot out in front of me. Before I could catch his moves, my ankle twisted in his and I stumbled forward. I caught myself before I face-planted on the sidewalk, but my coffee wasn’t so lucky, dumping onto the concrete and splashing up onto my jacket. Cursing under my breath, I stood and looked down at myself. The stranger’s laughter filled my ears and I shot him a glare.

“Asshole,” I muttered. Leaving my empty Styrofoam cup on the concrete, I kept walking.

The stranger falls into step next to me again. “Brendon,” He stated.

My pace faltered and I cast him a wary look. “What?”

“My name,” He smiled, seemingly pleased that I’d spoken to him. “Brendon.” I shook my head and looked back to my feet. I wasn’t sure where exactly I was going at this point, but away from him-- Brendon-- seemed like a good option. “What’s yours?” When I didn’t reply, he chuckled again. There was a faint brushing on my jacket where he nudged me. “You do have a name, don’t you?”

Silence fell for a long moment as I had an inner war with myself. I could tell him, or I could ignore him until he went away. The latter didn’t seem to be happening, so finally I sighed. “Ryan.”

Brendon’s smile widened, but he didn’t respond. I kept walking, fully aware of the complete stranger who was beside me. I was grateful for the silence, but it was unsettling at the same time; It gave me time to think. There was a person, who apparently no one could see but me, and he was stalking me.

When I reached my house, I went inside without a single word to Brendon. He followed me all the way to the doorstep, stopping on the welcome mat and budging no further. Upstairs, I shut myself in my bedroom and shrugged off my jacket. Tossing it into the far corner, I turn around only to see him again.

I jumped, seeing Brendon lying back on my bed, making himself comfortable. He studied the precarious stack of CD’s on my nightstand, scrutinizing the artists and looking pleased. “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded. With my parents at work, I had the house to myself. I didn’t have to worry about them hearing me talk to an invisible man. “Have you ever heard of privacy? Or stalking?”

Brendon doesn’t answer my questions. Instead, he let his head fall back with a groan. “I’m bored,” He said. “I followed you because, unlike everyone else so far, you can see me. It gets kind of lonely when everyone denies your existence.”

His words appealed to me and I take a small step forward. Wringing my hands, I bit down nervously on my lip. “I can see you,” I repeated. “But no one else can.” Brendon nodded slowly. “Why?”

Brendon tilted his head in my direction, pursing his lips. “Why can you see me? Or why can’t they?”

I hesitated before answering, taking another step. “Both, I guess.”

“Nobody has been able to see me for the past three months,” He replied with a shrug. “One of the perks of being dead, I suppose.”

“You’re dead?” I don’t know why it surprised me, as it kind of made sense. It still didn’t make the uneasy feeling in my gut cease. “Like… A ghost?”

Brendon swept his arms open, gesturing to his torso. “In the flesh.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, figuratively.” He shifted on the bed, the mattress not squeaking as it usually does with my weight on it. “And as for why you can see me… I’m not really sure.”

“Can I touch you?” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them, but the sudden realization that he’s dead seemed to make me more blunt.

Brendon simply cocked an eyebrow. “At least buy me dinner first.” My face flushed bright red and I looked down. Brendon chuckled and shifted again, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the mattress. He extended a hand to me and wiggled his fingers. “Go for it.”

Hesitantly, I reached out, too. My heartbeat accelerated and I felt as though I might be sick. My hand goes right through his, a slight cold tickling sensation pricking my flesh, sparking and igniting in my skin. I jerked back as if I’d been electrocuted.

Brendon was grinning, watching his hand, captivated as well. He let out a small laugh. “That was freaky…”

I could only nod in agreement, left speechless.

After that, Brendon wouldn’t leave. He was like a lost puppy who took up refuge by my side. He was an overbearing presence-- a pain in the ass that only I could see. He followed me around everywhere I went; School, the coffee shop, to see my friends. I couldn’t even shower without him waiting for me, perched just outside the shower curtain on the toilet. At first, it was awkward and uncomfortable. I would make sure to have myself covered at all times because I knew he would make sexual jokes. But after so long, it got to the point where I would step out of the shower, completely exposed, and dry myself off without even acknowledging the fact that he was watching me.

He talked to me a lot of the time. Sometimes I didn’t even know what he was saying, his words just falling together to make indistinct sentences. But I listened. He was interesting, the way he talked about anything and everything. He was opinionated and outspoken, but since no one else could hear him, I usually only answered when we were alone. I learned a lot about him; He was seventeen, the same age as me. He had lived in Summerlin his whole life, up until he died. His parents divorced at a young age and he grew up a single child raised by a single father. I asked him once how he died, but he instantly got quiet and replied with only a slight shake of his head. I didn’t know what his response meant, whether he didn’t know or didn’t want to talk about it, but I never asked again.

He was also a dick. He stayed with me in my room most days when I wasn’t at school, entertaining himself in different ways. Usually, he found joy in distracting me from my homework or changing my answers altogether when I went to bed. One time, he erased my entire essay for English class-- a two page paper analyzing the character of Hamlet’s mom-- and I unknowingly turned in a two-thousand word essay that explained, in great detail, the “art of sodomy.”

It didn’t stop there, though. When I was with my friends, Brendon would be right there, like a buzzing voice in my head, commenting on everything that was said. I learned quickly that he, for no apparent reason, hated my friend Pete. Whenever he spoke, Brendon would groan and tell me that Pete needed a muzzle.

At home, Brendon would make messes for me to clean up. Of course, I couldn’t exactly explain to my parents that it was actually a ghost that had ransacked the cabinets and rearranged everything, so I was forced to put it all back. Or there was the time that Brendon tried to drink a two-liter of Pepsi and instead made a puddle of soda on the floor because it went straight through him. I had to clean it up and deal with Brendon complimenting my ass the entire time. It was a constant thing, dealing with Brendon. It made me nervous when he wasn’t around because I would worry about where he was. He once put a red sock in the washer and turned an entire load of whites pink, including my underwear. The next day at school, I dealt with jokes in the locker room about my “pretty panties.”

Admittedly, having Brendon around wasn’t always a bad thing. It was a few months after he had first appeared that I was walking home from the coffee shop-- he was talking about how much he missed Reeses and how it sucks to not be hungry when you’re dead-- when a group of guys passed me. I laughed quietly at sometimes Brendon said, but the group seemed to have thought I was laughing at one of them because in a matter of seconds, I was being shoved into a vacant alleyway. One of the guys grabbed my coffee and dumped the steaming liquid down the front of my jacket. The parts of my skin that were exposed stung with the burn, but I barely had time to register the pain before a fist was connecting with my jaw. A few more punches were thrown before Brendon came to my rescue, throwing a trashcan at one guy and tripping another. When I finally got home, the tears were falling freely down my cheeks. Brendon led me to the bathroom, setting me down on the toilet and mumbling quietly that I had to get cleaned up. I could see that he wanted to help me, but in the few months I had known him, I picked up a few ghostly things. I knew now that it took a lot of effort and strength for Brendon to touch things, and throwing a trashcan at someone definitely took a lot out of him. He reached a few times for a washrag but his fingers slipped right through the material. He cursed and looked down, anger and defeat on his usually happy face. Wiping a hand across my nose, I winced and stood up. I went to his side by the sink and picked up the rag for myself. Glancing in the mirror, I was surprised by two things; First, I noticed I was pretty beat up. There was a cut between my eyes and a trail of blood down the side of my nose. My lip was busted, jaw swollen and beginning to bruise. The second thing, the thing that surprised me even more, was that I didn’t see Brendon. He was right beside me, but the mirror didn’t cast back a reflection. It was as if he wasn’t even there.

After I cleaned myself up, I went to my bed. Lying down, I closed my eyes. I could feel when Brendon climbed in next to me, that cold, tingling feeling pricking all over my skin once again. I turned to him and let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

Brendon didn’t reply, but I felt the cool sparks on my face as he ran a few fingers across my jaw. I fell asleep surrounded by that sensation.

Now, it’s been five months since my first encounter with Brendon Urie. As much as it pains me to say it, I’ve kind of grown accustomed to having him around me. The inappropriate jokes, the way he watches me or talks to me like I’m the only person in the world-- Of course, I’m the only person in the world that can see and hear him. But recently, he seems to be acting weird. He’s gone more often now, leaving me alone in my room to wonder where he goes when he’s not with me. When he is with me, he doesn’t talk as much. His smile seems more forced than the natural one I’m used to seeing on his lips. It worries me and I’m not really sure why.

I’m sitting in my room, reading a new comic I picked up, when he appears to my left. The sudden shift in atmosphere doesn’t scare me anymore like it used to when he first started following me, and without glancing up, I say, “Have you read this one yet? I got it for you last week.”

I finish the panel I’m on and look over at Brendon. He’s relaxed back on the headboard of my bed, eyes on the book in my hands, but they’re unfocused. Like he’s staring right past the pictures and onto something else completely. His brow is furrowed and he remains quiet. “Hey, Bren.” I wave a hand in front of him and his head snaps up. “You okay?”

He swallows hard and nods. A forced smile settles on his face. “Fine.”

I shift on the bed, sighing and shaking my head. “You’re a bad liar,” I state. I turn to face him, crossing my legs and abandoning the comic on the mattress. “You’ve been acting really weird. What’s up?”

Brendon’s eyes search mine and he finally lets the fake smile fall away, leaving him looking torn and confused. He bites down on his lip a few times before looking down at his lap. “Ryan, I think I’m dying.”

I let out a short laugh. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Brendon, but you’re already dead.” But Brendon isn’t laughing. He doesn’t even look mildly amused. He looks scared. I automatically shift closer. “Okay, you’re freaking me out. Seriously, what’s going on?”

Slowly, Brendon looks up at me. He shrugs, a helpless gesture. “I don’t know,” He admits. “I feel weaker. I can’t touch anything without blacking out. Usually I can touch things if I focus enough, but I just can’t anymore. And there’s this light…” He trails off for a second before wiping a hand across his nose and sniffling. “I keep seeing this bright white light and I don’t know what it is.”

There’s an ache in my chest as I watch him, looking so hopeless and scared. For the first time, I seem to see him as what he actually is; A seventeen year old boy who lost his life. “But you don’t know what the light is?”

Brendon looks down at his lap again. His words are quieter, barely even spoken aloud, but they echo loud in my ears. “I never told you how I died,” He states and after a long pause, sighs. “Ry, I killed myself.” The simple fact is enough to make my heartbeat stutter, but the look on his face is like a knife in my chest. My mouth goes dry, my entire body just shutting down at the revelation. Brendon fidgets with his hands in his lap for a long moment, avoiding my eyes, before looking up at me. “When I first died, I never got the white light experience. I never saw anything, no singing angels with harps or whatever shit you’re supposed to see when you die. It was just… normal. I woke up as a ghost and I thought it was because of what I did. I didn’t deserve Heaven or Hell because I killed myself, I just thought I was supposed to stay here forever. But…” He looks at me with pleading eyes, like somehow I’ll know the answer. I don’t. “What if this is it, Ryan? What if this is the bright light I’m supposed to see? What if this is my stairway to Heaven? Or Hell…”

I don’t reply for a long time, not trusting my voice. I want to scream and cry and throw things and hold him close. Because I don’t want him to go, I don’t want him to leave me. Just the thought of him not being here makes my blood run cold. But, at the same time, this could be it; This could be the way Brendon finally makes it to the afterlife. If he’s feeling weaker, what could that mean? If he doesn’t go into the light, he could fade away completely.

Eventually, I reach out and take his hand in mine. It goes straight through, but the tingling sensation is enough. “I think…” My voice cracks and I mentally curse myself. “I think you should go, Bren.”

Brendon is shaking his head, watching me with huge, terrified eyes. “No, I can’t. What about you? I don’t--” Now it’s his voice that cracks. Tears gather in his eyes. “I don’t want to go, Ryan. I don’t want to leave you.”

Shit, now I’m crying, too. I sniffle and a sad smile falls on my lips. “I don’t want you to go, either. But I can’t just stand by and watch you get weaker and weaker. I won’t do that to you.”

Brendon’s hand moves to my cheek and he frowns. “I wish I could touch you,” He says. “I wish I could feel you, but I can’t. I wish I could kiss you.”

I bite back more tears. He leans close to me, the sparks igniting against my cheeks and lips, as he exhales slowly and my eyes close. “I wish I had known you when I was still alive.”

We fall asleep together on the bed, the cold wrapping around me like a blanket and seeming to actually warm me.

When I wake up in the morning, the bed is empty and Brendon is gone.

The days drag on after Brendon crosses over. I’m not exactly sure what happens to him, but I like to think he’s happier now. Maybe he’s forgotten me altogether-- If he forgets me, he can’t dwell on missing me like I miss him. I keep the same routine I had when he was around, but the time seems to pass too slow. I go to the coffee shop nearly every day, spend time alone in my room, and go to school. My grades, terrible thanks to Brendon, raise only slightly, but eventually I give up on doing my homework at all. It’s a waste of time and it only reminds me of him. My friends have noticed the change in my attitude and I simply tell them someone in the family died. They leave me alone after that. I seem to spend the majority of my time at the coffee shop, sitting in a far corner by myself, watching over everything and maybe hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of Brendon’s face just one more time, like maybe he isn’t really gone. That doesn’t happen.

Days turn into weeks, all of them blurring together and making me dizzy and nauseous. I miss him so much it’s a physical ache in my chest, the palpitations of my heart skipping and trembling. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before and the need to see him again becomes overwhelming. One time, I even think about suicide. I stand in the garage, staring at the rope in my hands and even tie it up on the rafters. But I don’t go through with it; Brendon wouldn’t want that. If he was here, he would graze his thumb over my cheek and tell me I’m stronger than that. I need to keep going.

Three months pass with Brendon gone. I feel empty without him, which sounds pretty cheesy-- Brendon would hate that. He once followed me and my friends to the movies and complained the entire time about all of the cliche shit, pointing out different things that would make the movie better and criticizing the main characters. But it’s like he made himself a part of my life and when he was gone, that part was missing.

I order my usual coffee from the shop, today not taking the time to sit and watch the other customers. I know that my grieving needs to come to an end. I can’t watch for him everywhere because I’m beginning to come to terms with the fact that he’s actually gone. So I take my drink and leave. I keep my eyes down on the sidewalk and I go, shoes scuffing along the asphalt as small rocks crunch underfoot. The bustle of the city street vibrates in my ears but I don’t focus on any one sound.

A few blocks from the coffee shop, the city thins out into suburban area. The noises fade, too, and the quiet sound of Spring surrounds me, trees rustling in the wind and birds chirping in the distance. I sip slowly at my coffee and sigh in content. For the first time since Brendon disappeared, I feel a serenity I had forgotten existed. I keep walking.

Voices sound nearby, male and female, screaming at each other. I look up, slightly concerned, and see a young couple standing outside of a nice-looking house. I stop, curious, and take in the scene before me. The girl is standing in the middle of the yard, screaming at the man in the driveway. He yells something back and I gather that they’re fighting about someone he was sleeping with. The man storms to the car, climbing in and slamming the door before peeling out of the driveway.

“Fuck you, Hank!” The woman yells and reaches down to grab something off the ground. A garden gnome. What the hell is she doing with a garden gnome? She brings the object back and throws it as hard as she can toward the car that’s speeding off down the road, but her aim is off and I see it flying in my direction only a second too late.

The garden gnome collides painfully with my skull and I fall back. Coffee goes everywhere, mixing with a red liquid I realize only a moment later is blood. I’m bleeding. Because that bitch hit me in the head with a garden gnome. There’s a small part of my brain that’s laughing hysterically because I can’t wait to tell Pete about this, but a larger section of my brain is taking control with panic. There are sounds all around me, indistinct and loud. First I hear the woman screaming again but that fades into the sound of sirens. More buzzing voices like waves crashing against rocks. It’s only a short time after that, that everything disappears. The sounds become vague whispers of wind and everything goes black.

When I wake up, my head is throbbing. Everything seems to be intensified-- the smell of cleaning supplies burns in my nostrils and a bright light blinds me when I open my eyes. My body feels heavy and unused, stiff and weighted. Voices are talking and the sudden sound makes me flinch away, and then someone is crying. Hysterical sobs. Rugged, panting breaths.

I groan, forcing my eyes open again and looking around. I’m in a hospital bed. I guess the woman who hit me with the gnome called an ambulance. To my right, my mother and father sit in uncomfortable looking visitor's chairs. A doctor stands before them frowning. “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” He says. The words reverberate in my head for a moment, not making any sense. What did they lose?

“Mom?” I croak. My voice is thick and dry. “Dad?” Slowly, I shift on the bed, pushing myself up and onto the cold tile floor. I walk closer, but no one looks up. “Guys, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Another huge sob shakes my mother’s body, accompanied with a few broken words. I can make out my name. I shuffle closer and try again. “Mom?” This time, she looks up. But she’s not looking at me. Behind me, her eyes focus on something. Hesitantly I turn to see what she sees and my heart sinks, my stomach dropping.

On the bed is a slim figure, skull busted in and bandaged on the left side. I recognize my own face just before the doctor raises the sheet to cover it and the sudden realization dawns on me. Still, my voice manages to find the words and I speak them aloud to no one. “I’m dead?”

As I’m not expecting an answer, the voice that replies surprises me. “Freaky, huh? Seeing yourself like that? Imagine attending your own funeral. That’s some trippy shit.”

I spin around and the figure leaning against the doorframe watching me with a crooked smile makes my chest ache again. He can’t be real, none of this seems possible. “I’m dreaming,” I reason.

Brendon smirks and chuckles. “Shitty dream,” He states.

I take a small step closer to him, like an invisible string pulling me closer. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

“Of course I’m real,” He says and I’m reminded of when I first saw him, how he spoke those exact words. He extends a hand to me and I take that final step forward. My heart is beating violently against my ribs, my throat tight and making it nearly impossible to breathe. And when I touch his hand, it doesn’t go through. His fingers twist around mine, those same undeniable sparks igniting on my skin. He pulls me closer, grinning. “I missed you so much, Ryan.”

My stomach flutters and I realize that isn’t a dream. This isn’t an illusion. He is completely real and he’s here with me. “I love you, Brendon.”

His dark eyes glimmer and he wraps an arm around my waist. “I love you, too.”

We stand like that for a moment, simply reveling in the feeling of each other, finally embracing the contact of his skin on mine. “Kiss me,” I command, and with a pleased smile, he does. When he pulls away, my heartbeat uneven and my lips tingling, he leads me down the hospital hallway toward a bright light at the end of the narrow corridor. And with his hand in mine, I begin to think that maybe being dead won’t be so bad after all.


End file.
